


Untitled Coda to Hookman

by ohmcgee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 16:50:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's offering Sam this, some sort of normalcy, even if its only temporary, a breather from all the dead bodies and dead ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled Coda to Hookman

For a moment, he's lost in it - the warmth of her lips pressed against his, that needy feeling, just needing someone to cling onto, if only for that brief moment. 

"I can't," he says and she smiles at him sadly, asks if its that someone, the same someone that he lost. Sam wants to return her smile, to nod and say yes, that's why it doesn't feel right kissing her, but he doesn't. He doesn't smile because it wasn't Jess he was thinking of, and he doesn't say anything, because he doesn't even know what he would say. 

He just knows that things are finally, finally back to normal between him and Dean - whatever it is that normal means for them - and kissing Laurie while Dean is out digging up a corpse to burn, it just doesn't feel right. 

 

*

 

"We could stay," Dean says to him, soft and unguarded, a way Sam rarely ever sees him. He's offering Sam this, some sort of normalcy, even if its only temporary, a breather from all the dead bodies and dead ends. Sam knows what he's really saying though. He's been giving him that same look ever since St. Louis, ever since that night. 

Dean was checking the bruises on Sam's neck, stroking the tender skin with his thumb and Sam had just reached out and grabbed his wrist and pressed his mouth against Dean's impulsively. It was just, he couldn't get the shifter's words out of his head. Me, I know I'm a freak. One day, you're all gonna leave me. And Sam had, he had left Dean and he just wanted him to know that that wasn't going to happen again, so he kissed him. It probably wasn't the most logical idea, kissing your brother on the mouth to show him that you weren't going to leave him, but still, it had felt right, from the inside out. Everything about it had felt right, including the part where Dean's lips became pliant against his and Sam felt them part just so, felt Dean lick his dry lips to moisten them, and that's when it had turned from a reassuring, affectionate gesture into something more.

Sam looks at Dean across the car. He's not saying, we can stay, he's telling Sam that he's sorry for screwing things up between them. He's trying to get Sam to stay, to have fun and forget about him, forget about what happened in St. Louis. Sometimes Dean just wears his heart too far out on his sleeve and Sam can see the regret written all over his face, can tell that he thinks he's done this to Sam, turned him into this person that is so sickly in love with his brother he can barely stand it, but he's wrong. And he's a hypocrite, too. 

Dean wanted it just as much as Sam did, running his fingers through Sam's hair that night in St. Louis, tasting and licking every inch of Sam's mouth like he was trying to memorize it, like this might be the last time he'll ever get to feel Sam like this, his body electric beneath Dean's fingers. Sam can close his eyes and remember the short, gaspy noises Dean made when they kissed, the wet sounds of their tongues and teeth clacking together, so hurried and frantic. Then he remembers Dean shoving him away, his arm knocking a portrait off the hotel room wall, watching Dean leave the room, then watching him stumble in hours later reeking of booze and cigarette smoke and three dollar perfume from the dollar store, and he didn't want to think about why or what Dean had been out doing at all.

 

*

 

Sam meets Dean's eyes. "No." He shakes his head, holding his arm where the bandage is wrapped tight around his skin. It itches. He doesn't want to stay here and try to find comfort in a stranger just because they both lost someone. It won't make him feel better or normal or happy to sleep with someone he hardly knows. And it won't make him forget about what happened. What he doesn't regret happening, not really. It might be weird, but weird is all Sam's ever known. At some point, weird is what became normal for him.

"Okay," Dean says, like he's letting out a breath he's been holding for four hundred miles, and turns the engine over. 

A few miles down the road, Sam slinks down in his seat while Boston plays on the radio, and he feels the weight of Dean's arm fall across the back, behind his head. Another couple of miles, Sam's almost asleep when he feels the ghost of a touch, the slightest tickle, and realizes its Dean's fingers just barely brushing his hair. He can't fight the grin off his face as he curls up, face pressed against the seatbelt, Dean's fingers tangled up in his hair as he beats out a drum solo on the steering wheel. 

It feels normal. It feels permanent.


End file.
